As usual.
We actually slept in until nearly half seven, which mant we had already lost 90 minutes of the lolly around time we usually spend lolling around on Sundays.
We get up, make coffee and then I watch the football, as there is nothing else to do. Or nothing else to do than drink more coffee, eat croissants and be ready to leave the house at seven to go to funky Folkestone to have a haircut. Good thing about the salon there is it being open on Sunday. And is very quiet on Sundays.
We drive over and park at the bottom of the old High Street, and being a man on a mission, stride up the cobbled streets to the salon, where I find no one waiting, so get in the chair and the blokey goes, snip, snip, snip. As he had forgotten his scissors. Not really, off he lopped my curly locks, and I am several pounds lighter by the end, but he has done a good job so I give him ten.
I found an old disposable camera at my Mum's, so I wanted to finish all the shots on it, and then drop it off at the camera shop on the Old High Street, it seemed they opened at midday, so I had an hour to walk back to the harbour, along the old railway tracks, snap the building work at the Harbour Station, as was, and back up to drop the film off, just like in them olden days.
It was a dull, but still day, and not too many folks about, round the side of the harbour and up the steps onto the old tracks and then across the pier and swing bridge to the old station, where the tracks had been filled in too, and work nearly completed in completing the walkway to the harbour arm. I think it will work very well, and the station is looking wonderful, even if no trains will ever call there again. It has been saved. And not turned into another bloody marina for rich folks yachts.
I take shots of the station and we walk round the other side of the harbour, then go up to the camera shop, drop the now finished film off, the first time I have done that in a decade. And quite thrilled to see what the results will be, although it might be a week or so before I find out, just like old times.
We go to visit Jen, and I find the chickens have been let out of their pen, so I wander round the garden with the pullets following me round thinking I had food, I just like to have chickens following me. Jen is well and I tell her that her house is even more so a place of laughter. Which it is.
We go back home for lunch of cheese and crackers, as I found a place in Folkestone that sold Cornish Yarg; a strong cheese wrapped in nettle leaves, and mighty good it is too. Then there is football, but then there always is. Tow games on the radio, the second plays out as I cook roast beef and all the trimmings, which is as good as it sounds, even the potatoes nothing but crispy bits, as they should be, so that you just have to have one more. Just one more.
Finally, there is the final of Robot Wars, all metal mayhem and filled with laughs and shocks.
And tomorrow is Mondya, and apart from that, I have no idea what the week will bring.
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